DEVOIDISM

The unfathomable lethargy, which resumes me to that penury of imaginative inventory, has assigned, what is left of my mental store, to the promise of a staid industry. It is by no means of leisure, or the poetic extravagance of raptured verve, when given to the futility of precocious hubris, that I give an adequate sum of events which will find themselves, in the unburying of my tale. There are things, which having no character of neither positively common nor relatively strange, must find themselves in the dialect of insuperable study. I have once mentioned to my own arrogance that the supernatural, is nothing but the common dysfunction, or rather the deplorable parsimony of unoriginal parables. The fault was all mine alas! I remember on the night when the woman first thudded on my threshold, with that haunting monotony that deforms anticipation with the poison of dread. My currency of inquisition was rendered unrequited, and I found naught in the protruding mobility of surmise, rushing towards shadows of hyperbole. I answered to my visitor, and my pursuit of comprehension, pertaining to the titular address of whomsoever was upon the door remained, a perfunctory expense. Opening the hinges, I discovered, in a moment of the utmost terrible, a cold sensation as the figure of a woman, permitted itself admission into my precinct. There seemed to be a sense of distraction in her deportment, and when I inquired why she had been in my precinct, I saw her form now discovered to me. Truly there had been nothing quite synonymous with the horror before me, and soon my most ridiculous fancies had become, a nightmare of lucid veracity. Her eyes were of a dusky grey, with the seemings of a trance in their cold adamance. It is as if they dreamt no mortal dream. Her complexion was pale, as if having been dusted with powdered chalk, and her lineaments were corrugated, suggesting old age. I remember how morbidly she pulled the meagre webs of her hairs from her head, until only gore remained as vestige. At length from her chapped lips, I heard her moan the quivering reverberations of her vocabulary,

"No, I am lost again and I have no one. They have all gone, Dear lord there's nothing left for me, what will become of me now" and with these words, I saw her garment, a bohemoth ebony fabric, combust into flames and in the agony of their malignant forks, I saw her thrust herself into an open adjacent window. As I gazed outside I discovered only embers remaining, on the moist grass and the ensuing echoes of her shrieks, as the closure of the incident, enthused me with a transient insanity.